An era where gods and humans walked the same earth.
In those ancient days, every city-state had its own protector. Uruk was guarded by Ishtar, the goddess of beauty, harvest, and war. Kusa, meanwhile, belonged to Ereshkigal, the Goddess of the Underworld.
After securing a leave of absence from Waver, Wayland boarded a flight to the Mesopotamian Plains, the cradle of civilization nestled between the Tigris and Euphrates rivers.
Unlike Uruk, which still held traces of its former glory, the city of Kusa had long ago been swallowed by the sands of Iraq.
Wayland stood in the middle of a desolate, sun-scorched plain. In the air before him, a semi-transparent golden map flickered into existence, courtesy of the system.
"This is the site of Uruk," Irigal explained, her voice sounding uncharacteristically somber. "To the north were the cities of Nippur, Babylon, and Mari. To the south lay Ur and the Persian Gulf. Kusa should be located to the east of Uruk... right about here."
As she spoke, the map glowed, illuminating a specific patch of barren earth.
"Right."
Wayland followed the map's guidance, leaving the modern skyline behind and venturing deeper into the wilderness.
"Is this the place?"
"Yes." Irigal's tone was hushed, almost reverent. "The temple is at the exact center."
Wayland didn't notice her mood. The catalyst was within his reach, and the excitement was thrumming through his veins. "So, what's the plan? Do I need to hire an excavator or something?"
Irigal let out a short laugh. "You're a magus, for heaven's sake. Why would you need an excavator? Do you even know how to drive one?"
"Fair point." Wayland looked down at the compacted, sun-baked earth. He tried stomping on it, but it was like hitting solid rock. He frowned. "Trying to blast through this with magic would take forever."
"Don't even think about it. You're not like that violent goddess who tried to blow up the Underworld with her Noble Phantasm."
"Do you have a better idea?"
"The temple didn't just sink into the earth over time. Eresh-chan actively hid it. In the Age of Gods, to petition a deity, one needed a specific offering and a prayer. The offering Ereshkigal demands is, of course, the soul of the departed. The prayer, however... it's a specific hymn of praise. Repeat after me:
'To the land of no return...'
'To the domain of Ereshkigal.'
'To the silence of the blackest dark...'
'Into the chamber from which none escape.'
'To the path that permits no turning back...'
'Into the house where the light is never lit.'
'This is the Underworld.'
'This is the Temple.'
'Only the vines tended by the Goddess remain,'
'Waiting for a reunion on the day the flowers never bloom.'
'Is this really a 'hymn of praise'? It sounds more like a funeral dirge.'
Wayland sighed, but he followed his system's lead. As the final words left his lips, the air before him shimmered and rippled. The desolate plain vanished, replaced by the majestic silhouette of an ancient temple.
It was constructed from sun-dried mud bricks, its surface shimmering with a faint, ethereal gold. Its design was a classic ziggurat, a stepped pyramid rising toward a single, crown-like sanctuary at its peak.
Wayland climbed the steps and entered the main hall.
The interior was vast and empty, save for the massive pillars that supported the high, vaulted ceiling. At the far end of the hall stood a single throne.
["Master... reach out with your right hand."]
"Okay."
Wayland complied, though he found the request strange.
His magical circuits flared to life instantly. Seven distinct, lightning-shaped patterns pulsed with a pale blue light across the skin of his hand.
"Irigal? What's going on?"
["Look at the throne."]
Wayland shifted his gaze. On the previously empty seat, a small, golden object had manifested.
It was familiar.
It looked exactly like the 'Lance Cage' that Ereshkigal always carried.
A delicate, golden cage designed to hold souls... but it was different. The cage wasn't just a container; it was woven from the same intricate, spear-like patterns that matched the circuits on Wayland's own hand.
Wayland walked slowly toward the throne and picked it up.
"Irigal... can you tell me why? Why does this exist here?"
He asked the question, though he wasn't sure he wanted the answer.
For a long time now, he'd suspected that his arrival in this world wasn't a simple accident. From the Department of Astronomy to the Execution Division, from the Seven Holy Paladins to the mysterious Irigal herself... every step he took seemed to have been laid out for him. Even the catalyst he now held seemed Tailor-made for him.
As Caren had suggested, he was walking a path that had already been set.
["Master..."]
Irigal's voice was soft, weighted with things she couldn't say. ["There is much that I cannot explain yet. But you must believe this: Eresh-chan will never harm you."]
[Translated and Rewritten by Shika_Kagura]